Notes About The Poem
image from Hope at pinterest.com
EDITOR'S GUILLOTINE
A writer walks into a room with his heart in his hands~
not bleeding, not broken, but folded neatly,
like origami gently placed in in a drawer.
He lays it on the desk.
The editor’s fingers
are scissors, a scalpel, a rusted letter opener.
She does not ask permission.
Somewhere, a printer goes offline.
Somewhere, a coffee cup stains a rejection slip.
The man watches his heart unfold under her gaze,
each crease a line she might cut.
When she speaks, her voice is a papercut~
quick, precise, almost painless.
Not this, she says,
but maybe next time.
He leaves with his heart refolded,
smaller now,
but still beating.
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